Fable - Ask A Royal Execution

[Gaheris]

"The trick is to cash out before the treachery begins," Gaheris muttered, pushing some kheer around in the without commitment. "As I'm sure you've found, rich people do just fine anywhere in the world, empire or no."​

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Run an empire for a few years, then abscond with enough money to make you richer than the gods. Run a more modest estate elsewhere. Less luxury? Sure. But more than the vast majority of the world would ever enjoy. And that could be enough.​

​

Something told him Gerra would be less easily sated. The half-giant would die on his throne, or in close proximity to it. And apparently without a heir, at this rate.​

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He raised an eyebrow at Fieravene. "Oh so... You have one run Empire, then...? Or several, since you can tell?"​

 

[Fieravene]

She smirked. How many rulers knew when enough was enough? How many would even admit to it? Throw an entire empire away willingly? Perhaps the real trick was to shove it off on your progeny and let them suffer with it for the next several decades while you lived in the lap of your farmed luxury, free of responsibility to the beast.

"It might surprise you to learn that I am of royal pedigree, Gaheris. I ruled over my Empire for half a century before I ... cashed out, as you say." She stirred the kheer and took another bite, munching tenderly on a piece of almond, "Now I prefer to sit back and watch the show."

 

[Gaheris]

His eyes widened in muted surprise, but the expression didn't last long. Gaheris decided that Fieravene must be putting one over on him. A former empress. How absurd. He reclined gently in his seat, now watching Fieravene with an amused flavor of skepticism. Like waiting for a punchline.​

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"Of course. And what kind of ruler were you?"​

 

[Fieravene]

"The indulgent kind," she smiled keenly over her kheer at him before taking another bite. A glance was given to his own bowl, sitting unattended, "Do you not like your dessert?"

 

[Gaheris]

"Uh-huh." He did not seem particularly convinced.​

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Fieravene in the regalia of a monarch? Ruling over subjects? He'd sooner believe an adult dragon could play the fife. Amber eyes flicked between his dessert and the alleged-former-empress.​

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Gaheris itched at his chin, "Oh, just, uh, full. Is all."​

 

[Fieravene]

If she was dismayed that he did not seem to believe her it didn't show at all. Probably for the best, considering anyone who thought they knew Fieravene would tell you she was a pathological liar. There weren't many people that knew her well enough to say so.

The dark elf smirked and gave the man a once-over, "Perhaps I could tempt you with a different sort of dessert then..." a suggestive arch of her brow followed.

 

[Gaheris]

The back of his neck suddenly felt irrationally hot. She was implying something, and he did not like his suspicion on what that something was. Especially since he'd been squarely in the realm of 'dead wrong' last time Fieravene had implied something.​

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Whatever that something was.​

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Gaheris cleared his throat, eyes glancing left, then right. Exits marked. Force of habit. Gaze settled back on the Dark Elf.​

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"What did you have in mind...?"​

​

 

[Fieravene]

Her expression grew sanguine, "You, me, a bed of silk, a bottle of wine, and very..." those eyes skated over him again, "very little else."

 

[Gaheris]

He looked considerate for a moment. This felt distantly like a bad idea. There were, perhaps, reasons for this. But a good meal had a habit of clouding the judgement of otherwise cautious men - and empowering urges that could otherwise be ignored, or reasoned against.​

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Gaheris took his wine glass and, in one quick motion, deftly downed the remaining contents.​

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He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Lead on, fair empress."​

 

[Fieravene]

Well there was a pleasant change of character for the man. Fieravene couldn't help but think back to the very same interaction between them - how it had started off so ... innocently. Then how quickly it unraveled. Back then she'd set her sights on something else beyond the man. He'd merely been an unfortunate pawn in her plan, even if he'd come out of it rich as a noble.

Tonight there was no plan, no something else. No ulterior motive or heinous ploy.

Just a bottle of wine, a bed of silk, and an emboldened Necromancer, hot beneath the collar.

Fiera placed her bowl on the table and fluidly rose from her seat, taking the bottle of wine in one hand and offering her free hand to the man, "This way, darling."